


Fearless

by tollie



Series: Molly/Irene Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Corpses, Established Relationship, F/F, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tollie/pseuds/tollie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene and Molly share a conversation and a kiss at the morgue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearless

"Doesn't it ever frighten you?"

 

Irene isn't looking at Molly when she speaks.  She's gazing idly at her reflection in one of the beakers full of colored liquid and chemicals that are arranged around Molly's lab table.  Applying more aqua shadow to one meticulously painted eyelid.

 

"Does what frighten me?" Molly asks, trying to look occupied as Irene glances up at her, an attempt to hide the fact that she'd been staring.

 

Irene shuts her makeup case with a snap.  "The dead people, of course."

 

Molly nods slowly -- in understanding, not in affirmation.  "Ah," she says.  She should have known, not even the dark and mysterious Irene Adler would understand this without being told.  She's silent for a moment, and Irene looks at her, though not expectantly -- she smiles.

 

"Fearless, are you?" Irene says.  She straightens, extends one arm and wraps her fingers around the nape of Molly's neck.  Firmly but gently, she pulls Molly in for a kiss.

 

Molly lets her, kisses her back.  She breathes in the scent of Irene's perfume, trying not to think about how fearless she really isn't.

 

She wobbles on her feet a bit, and after a moment they break apart.  Molly grins, then resumes her work -- pouring chemicals from one beaker into another, looking for the proper reaction from a group of isolated skin cells.

 

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Molly asks, and though she doesn't look at Irene, the fond expression on her face is not meant for the chemicals.

 

"Nowhere I like better," Irene says, grinning.  She plants a peck on Molly's cheek, and they sit together in silence for a while.  Then Irene slips off, because she really did have somewhere else to be, and Molly is left in her quiet lab, wishing she hadn't said anything at all.

 

_Fearless, are you?_   Irene's words echo in hear head, and Molly sighs.  She's done with the sample, so she puts away the things she'll need again and tosses out the rest, including those pesky latex gloves that will never go on or come off in just one go.  She wishes that were the reason that the dead bodies who pile up on her table don't scare her.  Their faces that will never see another expression, never look at Molly curiously and wonder how she got here in the first place, wonder what right she has to meddle in the important affairs of men.

 

But, she thinks, her face resuming that fond expression, the one  most definitely not meant for the lab key as she locks the door behind her, makes her way back to the morgue -- not everyone  makes her feel that way.  Some people make her feel wanted, special -- like not only does she _count_ , she's the only one who counts.  The only one in the world.

 

_Nowhere I like better._   Molly succumbs to the warm feeling that envelops her, even as she pulls back the sheet on another cold body.  Not even she could convince herself that Irene was referring to the morgue.

 

Irene isn't looking at Molly when she speaks.  She's gazing idly at her reflection in one of the beakers full of colored liquid and chemicals that are arranged around Molly's lab table.  Applying more aqua shadow to one meticulously painted eyelid.

"Does what frighten me?" Molly asks, trying to look occupied as Irene glances up at her, an attempt to hide the fact that she'd been staring.

Irene shuts her makeup case with a snap.  "The dead people, of course."

Molly nods slowly -- in understanding, not in affirmation.  "Ah," she says.  She should have known, not even the dark and mysterious Irene Adler would understand this without being told.  She's silent for a moment, and Irene looks at her, though not expectantly -- she smiles.

"Fearless, are you?" Irene says.  She straightens, extends one arm and wraps her fingers around the nape of Molly's neck.  Firmly but gently, she pulls Molly in for a kiss.

Molly lets her, kisses her back.  She breathes in the scent of Irene's perfume, trying not to think about how fearless she really isn't.

She wobbles on her feet a bit, and after a moment they break apart.  Molly grins, then resumes her work -- pouring chemicals from one beaker into another, looking for the proper reaction from a group of isolated skin cells.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Molly asks, and though she doesn't look at Irene, the fond expression on her face is not meant for the chemicals.

"Nowhere I like better," Irene says, grinning.  She plants a peck on Molly's cheek, and they sit together in silence for a while.  Then Irene slips off, because she really did have somewhere else to be, and Molly is left in her quiet lab, wishing she hadn't said anything at all.

/Fearless, are you?/  Irene's words echo in hear head, and Molly sighs.  She's done with the sample, so she puts away the things she'll need again and tosses out the rest, including those pesky latex gloves that will never go on or come off in just one go.  She wishes that were the reason that the dead bodies who pile up on her table don't scare her.  Their faces that will never see another expression, never look at Molly curiously and wonder how she got here in the first place, wonder what right she has to meddle in the important affairs of men.

But, she thinks, her face resuming that fond expression, the one  most definitely not meant for the lab key as she locks the door behind her, makes her way back to the morgue -- not everyone  makes her feel that way.  Some people make her feel wanted, special -- like not only does she /count/, she's the only one who counts.  The only one in the world.

/Nowhere I like better./  Molly succumbs to the warm feeling that envelops her, even as she pulls back the sheet on another cold body.  Not even she could convince herself that Irene was referring to the morgue.


End file.
